What Lies Beneath
by kimcooperx
Summary: A series of strange events in Hartford, Maine sees a psychologist become dragged into the underworld where things of nightmares threaten to destroy the world of the living. AU.
1. Chapter 1

So this is something entirely new and I really wanna run with this as I have a lot of inspiration. So please, read, review and tell me what you'd like to see!  
>This genre of fic is completely new to me so please bare with me :)<br>Thank you!

Kimberly

* * *

><p>He was not the first doctor to visit the Blank household, nor was he the most qualified but Doctor Jinder Mahal of Punjab, India was most certainly the last. Grabbed by the scruff of the neck and thrown through the front door by the man of the house, Doctor Mahal wriggled and fought profusely, refusing to back down from his argument. "Mister Blank," he argued from the doorstep, clutching at his briefcase with both hands. "You must understand that there is no other explanation – this is a work of witchcraft. There is simply no other answer." And, while Jeremy Blank slammed the door in the doctor's face, he knew he was correct, at least on the last part.<p>

Jeremy Blank was a successful man; a Jewish telecommunications expert who had made his fortune young and settled early with his childhood sweetheart. He had it all – money, the love of a good wife and, as of eleven months previous, a gravely ill daughter. Barbara, the youngest of his three daughters, had always been a live wire: a cheerleader and party goer, she had been known to cause Jeremy and his wife more than the odd sleepless night but, these days, they were losing sleep for a very different reason. Their once bubbly, vivacious daughter now lay in bed day after day, too weak to stand, to sit up or – on some days – even move. In less than a year, the transformation had been devastating and, what was more, had been completely unexplainable.

The country's top doctors had been baffled when tests for blood disease, chronic fatigue syndrome and – Mrs Blank's worst fear – cancer all came back negative. They had pumped the seventeen year old full of drugs – all of which they claimed would stop the weight loss, would increase her energy, decrease the pain and all of which failed. And so they had turned to alternative methods – Jeremy and Mary scoured the country for holistic and alternative treatments before moving outwards through Europe and, eventually, India. Doctor Mahal, however, had not been classed as an 'alternative' doctor. In fact, if his website was anything to go by, he was a most respectable and well trained medical practitioner who had taken on an almost Eastern-Gregory House approach in his medicines which, arguably, did fall into the category of 'alternative'. Jeremy had thought nothing of paying for the doctor's flights or of offering him a bed until his daughter was cured after reading reviews of Mahal online and, just two weeks later, Jinder Mahal had arrived on his doorstep with nothing but a briefcase and an overnight bag.

"It should not take any longer than a few days, Mister Blank," he had assured Jeremy as he settled down his bag on the kitchen table. "I have dealt with much more strange cases, I can assure you. Children born with three legs, an old woman who doubled in weight over one night... Your daughter is in safe hands, Mister Blank. Very safe." And yet, the fact remained that she was anything but.

Upstairs, Jeremy stood at the foot of his daughter's bed, watching as his wife clutched their frail daughter to her chest, her cheeks wet as great, racking sobs took over both of their bodies. "That doctor doesn't know what he's saying," he assured Mary who wailed loudly. "There's no such thing as witchcraft. This is hardly a sign of magi-"

"I know that," snapped Mary, her fair hair whipping around her tear streaked face as she glowered at her husband. "But what I don't know," she continued, a softness returning to her voice as she lowered Barbara onto her pillow, stroking her hair. "Is what is wrong with my daughter. Mahal was our last hope, Jeremy... He was her last hope and you've gone and thrown him out!"

Jeremy sighed before perching on the very edge of his daughter's bed, his eyes raking over her frail body. "Witchcraft, Mary... How is that anyone's hope? What does that even mean...?" Mary shrugged her shoulders before turning to face him. In less than a year, she had aged more than ten. Wrinkles lined her eyes, her mouth and, like her daughter, she had lost a lot of weight. Her hair showed premature grey and any joy which had flickered behind her eyes was gone.

"I...It means nothing, Jeremy. Nothing. But it was our last hope. And now we have none," the Florida native opened her mouth to speak but quickly snapped it shut.

"Don't say it."

"We both know it's true. We've known it for months now. She's going to die..."

"Mary, that's a terrible way to speak. Be thankful she can't hear you," he paused, his eyes flickering towards Barbara, unsure that she couldn't hear them. "We just...we just need to have faith. We need to keep trying – we can't give up until we have a cure," Jeremy's voice was weak as the businessman struggled to mask his own doubts.

"A cure for a disease we can't even name? Maybe he's right... He cured the three legged baby, afterall. And that woman with all the weight... Maybe he knows things. You don't know what goes on over in India..."

"I know that he's clearly a story-spinner. Anything for money..."

But Doctor Jinder Mahal was not a story-spinner. He was a dedicated Doctor who rarely ever took money from the patients he cured and, up until the day he met Barbara Blank, he had never believed in witchcraft.

* * *

><p>Her skin was flushed, her red lips pouty and pronounced and her dark hair fanning around her bare shoulders as she entered the room but all of this went unnoticed by the only other occupant of the room, a sickly, sleeping blonde. The black dress she wore would not have looked out of place in a nightclub, the clingy material sticking to every curve as she moved, as if floating, to the side of the bed. The woman leaned down, her dark hair creating a curtain which hid her as she stroked Barbara's cheek, tucking a strand of dishevelled blonde hair behind her ear. Even in sleep she looked restless, as though a great pain was burdening her. But this wouldn't last long...The brunette would see to that.<p>

Her lips curled, slightly, as a smile crossed her face. "Good evening, Barbara," she whispered, her voice soft and gentle. The sleeping blonde made no sign of recognition, merely turning her head slightly away from her visitor, gaining the brunette's smile to grow, her tongue flicking out to wet her lips. "You're safe now...with me." Her hand stroked the soft skin around the younger woman's jaw, her eyes flashing with light as a car passed, the headlights streaming in through the windows and flickering in her pale, blue eyes. In that one moment, she was exposed. The woman appeared to be no more than thirty but, in the seconds where her eyes caught the light, it was obvious she was much older; her eyes lacked vivacity and, while there were no lines or wrinkles on the smooth skin of her face, it was obvious she had seen more than met the eye.

"Wake, my dear," she said, tilting Barbara's jaw upwards. The blonde's eyes fluttered open slowly until she came to stare at the female. There was no shock or horror in her eyes, but a look of welcoming, the look given to a friend who had been gone for a very long time. "I wanted you to be awake for this...It's best, this way..." And, with that, Barbara smiled. It was weak and brief, but it was a smile; the first smile she had given in months. And then the screaming began.

* * *

><p>"I'm telling you, Jeremy, she was screaming for hours. I heard her – I <em>saw <em>her. I tried to wake her but...but she was so...She was in so much pain or, at least, she thought she was..." Mary gripped the ceramic mug she held in both hands tightly, her knuckles bone-white.

"She thought she was?" asked Jeremy, looking up from his newspaper. He had missed the previous evening's escapades – something which often happened when he took his nightly dose of sleeping pills – but now, as he and his wife sat by the breakfast table, Mary filled him in.

"Yes," his wife of twenty-six years said breathily. "When she woke up she had no recollection of it. I asked her if it was a nightmare but... She said she had had a lovely dream. She couldn't remember it but she said it had been so beautiful..."

"She spoke?" Jeremy looked up, his eyes wide with hope. It had been days since he had heard his daughter's weak voice and, before then, it had been months since she had sounded like her old self.

"That was the terrifying part...It was like speaking to the old Barbara. She even laughed...Told me not to worry..."

Jeremy's eyebrow headed north with scepticism. "Mary, perhaps you should return to the doctor... I can't help but think...Perhaps it was a trick of the mind. You don't sleep much and... Well..." In his attempt to look anywhere but his wife's eyes, the businessman's eyes caught the clock. "Oh, is that the time?" He asked, frowning. Just moments ago, he would have sworn it was seven o'clock and yet, here it was, eight forty-five and he still hadn't finished his coffee. "I'll need to get going. Mary, please, don't worry yourself too much. I'm sure it was all a trick of the mind. Either that or..." he paused as he got to his feet, a slice of toast held between two fingers. "It was a trick of the mind. There isn't another option..." He pressed his lips, quickly, to Mary's cheek before rushing from the house, keen to make it to his work before his starting time of nine.

Around noon, Mary finally left the kitchen after pouring her now ice-cold cup of coffee down the drain. She had tried to rationalise what had happened the night before but every time she tried, she was left with her husband's words: _It was a trick of the mind_. There's no other option, she thought as she moved towards the staircase. Barbara's sick. There's nothing else... No other option... She took a deep breath when she finally reached the foot of the stairs; she knew that she had to check on her daughter – to see proof that she was still ill and that what she had seen the night before had been, just as Jeremy said, a trick of the mind – but part of her simply didn't want to accept it, to accept that, contrary to what her mind had told her the night before, Barbara was still dying.

The bang of a door from the second floor startled the forty eight year old, throwing her from her thoughts. But, seconds later, she wished she had been left in her thoughts for, what reality gave her was much more terrifying. Dressed in her black and red cheerleading costume, her long blonde hair cascading down her back was Barbara. Her face was full and flushed, her hair messy on one side as she desperately tried to tame it with a paddle brush. "Mom, why the hell didn't you wake me?" her daughter called as she rushed downstairs. _Its just your mind, Mary. Jeremy was right. You need to go to Doctor Hennig. It's just your mind..._ "Mom? God, what's wrong with you?" Her daughter waved her hand in front of her mother's face, her lips parted slightly, her nose crinkled as she frowned. "I'm three hours late for school, Mom. Three hours. How do you expect me to get anywhere when you don't even wake me?" Silence fell between the two for a few seconds before Barbara rolled her eyes, rushing off into the kitchen where she grabbed a banana from the fruit bowl.

"There's no coffee in the pot," Barbara sighed, one hand on her hip, the other stashing the banana in her her handbag. "Look, I'll grab some from Starbucks on the way. I'm taking the car." Mary stood in shock, her eyes unblinking as she watched what she assumed to be her daughter busy herself with the family Volvo's keys. Turning on the spot, Barbara placed a hand on her mother's shoulder. "Maybe you need to go back to bed, Mom. You look like you seen a ghost..." And then, with a chaste kiss placed on her mother's cheek, Barbara rushed from the house, the door slamming behind her as Mary fell to the floor.

* * *

><p>Just south of the Great Moose lake sat Hartford, Maine, the new home of would-be psychologist Bryan Danielson. As the removal van trundled along the street, taking him to his new house, the Washington native read the Hartford Times. "Have you read this?" he asked, frowning as he turned to the removal van driver. A great slob of a man, the driver grunted, his eyes never leaving the road while Bryan struggled to look away from the stain on the man's shirt. "No, No I suppose you haven't..." he said, turning back to his newspaper knowing that it would be a miracle if the man could even read.<p>

The article in question was not local – in fact, it wasn't even a Maine issue. But the mystery which surrounded it had made headlines everywhere. A seemingly normal family had been found dead in their suburban home in Florida. The Blank family – a couple named Jeremy and Mary, along with two of their three daughters – had been nursing their third, terminally ill daughter for months on end when Jeremy disappeared from work. Three days later he had been found, tucked up in bed. Dead. Both he and his wife lay serenely, eyes open with smiles on their faces but undeniably dead. After inspection of their house, their oldest daughters Elizabeth and Margaret had been found in their respective beds, both in the same position as their parents. Post mortem reports had showed all four of them to be entirely healthy, save for the fact that they were dead. Cause of death had been marked as unknown and all four had been buried the weekend previous to Bryan's move.

But one of the strangest elements of the tale was that Barbara, their eighteen year old daughter who had been terminally ill, was no where to be found. Her body had not been found in her bed though reports claimed she had been unable to leave it and, after an intensive search had been conducted, the police had been forced to conclude that she had disappeared. The most fragile member of the family had escaped, leaving the other four to die albeit peacefully in their beds.

"You'd swear blind this was something out of a horror novel, wouldn't you? Or even like," Danielson laughed softly to himself. "In Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. Have you read-" he paused, not finishing the sentence. "Well, people don't just die, do they? There has to be a reason for it... But if the police can't find a reason-"

"Poh-lees don't know shit," said the driver, startling Bryan. "Jus' because the poh-lees can't find a cause of death don' mean there wasn' one."

"Well of course even the coroners can make mistakes but-"

"Coroners only look for shit they understand," replied the driver, still never looking to face Bryan. "They don' look for things they can' reason. Things like witchcraft or vamp-ayrs." Bryan frowned. "My bet's on the dyin' gurl." And, with that, the driver silenced, never speaking in Bryan's presence again, no matter how many questions the psychologist asked.


	2. Chapter 2

HEY! Thanks everyone for the amazing feedback - I can't believe how well its been received. I even have a POSTER for it!  
>Here's to chapter two - new characters and storylines.<br>Please read, review and enjoy xx  
>Kimberly<p>

* * *

><p>Jordan Cemetery, just off Great Moose Drive, was largely overcrowded though no one could remember the last time anyone had been buried there. For the past forty years people had been refused plots there and, for the past ten – at least – visitors to the graves within had been few and far between. The inhabitants of Great Moose Creek had long since given up chasing young teenagers away from the site – ever since the large, rusty padlock and chain which held the gate together had been broken off, it had become a regular drinking spot for teenagers. As it was, the cemetery was unkempt, many empty beer bottles stashed behind large gravestones, the huge, stone angels staring down disapprovingly as the students of Great Moose High School made it their meeting point.<p>

Almost every gravestone was thick with moss, the weather having destroyed many of the cenotaphs and, between the crypts and tombs of yesteryear, lay large chunks of rock, occasionally in the shape of an arm or a wing. Not that the teenagers cared, though... They were more than comfortable with lazing amongst the monuments of the dead, drinking and hiding from their parents in a place no sane adult would venture alone. The older generation of Great Moose Creek had been warned many a time in their youth of the horrors and creatures which had been known to live in a graveyard and knew to steer clear of the infamous Jordan Cemetery leaving the reportedly haunted cemetery in the hands of the younger generation.

Near the back of the cemetery, where the very first plots had been placed, stood a stone family crypt bearing the name 'McMahon' between two carved roses. It had, according to legend, been there since even before the cemetery itself after a Connecticut-native built it with his own two hands. Of course, this was mere legend but, regardless of how it had come to be, it had definitely been made ahead of its time. The decorative metal knocker had been expertly moulded into the shape of a lion who's face grotesquely stood out from the otherwise elegant carving of stone. It was this lion, they said, which guarded the crypt and anyone who dared cross would meet an untimely death at it's hands. But these days, it was not so much a lion which guarded the crypt but moss, weeds and boulders which almost entirely shielded it from the untrained eye. For hundreds of years the McMahon crypt had stood proud and prominent, a focal point of the cemetery if such thing were to exist. But, in the past century or so, it had taken the toll of weather beatings and, where once people would stop and stare, the crypt was now hidden, preventing any wrongdoings which went on from being seen. The wrongdoings which went on in the McMahon crypt, however, were not caused by drunken teenagers. The McMahon crypt housed much more serious dangers within...

* * *

><p>For the most part, Bryan Danielson's move had gone well – save for the strange outburst from the removal van driver, things had gone as was expected – and, now, he (along with his ever-faithful dog, Asparagus) was a not-quite-proud civilian of 'Great Moose Creek' where he rented a small one bed-room flat. The flat itself was nondescript with its magnolia coloured walls, its one book shelf and single bed which creaked at the first sign of weight. But - for now at least - it was home. He had been a Great Moose Creek citizen for almost four weeks when he finally decided to move the old, oak book shelf. The shelves were thin, many of which had fallen under the weight of many a hardback book and, if truth be told, it stood no match for Bryan's extensive book collection.<p>

On his own, the bearded psychologist hauled the book case from the wall, coughing loudly as puffs of dust clouded his face. He had been determined to get rid of it since the day he moved in and, now that his new, Dorsey bookshelf had been delivered, it was time to get rid of the only non-electrical piece of furniture he had been left in the house. Once the fragile wood had been pulled from the wall, Bryan began to dismantle the bookshelf, removing the remaining shelves before dismantling the wood; the most manual job he had done in a long time. Once all the wood had been broken down into small enough pieces to fit in the large garbage bin outside his house, Bryan took a breather; removing any wood chips from his hand and making a cup of coffee before returning to his living room.

While the bookshelf itself had not been particularly large, the room seemed vast and empty without it and, knowing he would need a place to house his books, comics and work related textbooks sooner or later, Bryan thought it best to fill the huge gap before the day was over. It was much quicker work to build an easy-pack bookshelf than it had been to dismantle one which had stood for at least three decades and, in next to no time, Bryan was the owner of a rather modest home for his books and comics. Pushing the currently empty bookshelf against the wall, the Washington-native came across a small wedge of paper, just thick enough to prevent the piece of furniture from being flat against the wall and, after tugging it from between the baseboard and the wall, threw it aside, fitting his handiwork to his wall, a proud grin stretching across his face.

"What do you say, Asparagus?" he grinned, placing his first book – a battered copy of J.R.R Tolkein's 'The Hobbit' – on the middle shelf. "I'd say that's a job well done!" The Golden Labrador tilted his head to the side, letting out a light whine before leaning down, thrusting the wedge of paper at his owner with his nose. "What's that, boy?" he asked, noting the look in his dog's eyes. They said a dog was a man's best friend and, in Bryan's case, this was true. He and Asparagus had been together since he was just a young pup and, while some people saw dogs as little more than pets, Bryan saw his as a friend. A friend who looked rather reproachful, even scared... Bending down, Bryan picked up the paper, Asparagus letting out a howl of pain the second his owner's fingers touched the wedge. "Calm down, Jeeeze." He muttered, ruffling the dog's fur before throwing himself down on his old arm chair, still grinning at his job well done.

For a moment, he ignored the wedge of paper he held in his hand, just glad of his day's task having been finished. Tonight, he decided, he would watch an episode of Criminal Minds before applying for jobs. It would be a productive night. He could feel it. But, had he planned to go into more detail about the evenings plans, he would have been cut short as Asparagus nudged his hand, trying to knock the wedge of paper from his hand. The psychologist frowned at his dog – best friend or not, the lab was a big softie who ran away in the face of danger but, as far as Bryan could see, there was no danger here... He playfully shoved his dog from his side, causing the dog to sit down, shielding his eyes with his paws as Bryan unfolded the small wedge.

The writing was small and slanted, the handwriting looking like it had been done using an old calligraphy set but Bryan's inquisitive mind caused him to inspect it heavily. He stood up, taking it to the small desk he had built beside the original bookshelf and laid it flat, turning on his lamp and taking a seat. Once in the right light, he could easily make out the perfectly written note. As his eyes scanned over the perfect calligraphy, Bryan rubbed his beard in thought. According to this note, some man – named only as Doctor Regal, who he presumed had been a previous occupant of the house – had been very concerned about the events which would take place precisely 37 days from the day of reading. According to this Doctor Regal, the world would cease to exist as they knew it as of the 29th of March, when a Motley Crew of the undead would rise up and enslave the living.

According to Bryan Danielson, Doctor Regal was quite the storyteller...

* * *

><p>The three thick, cylindrical candles which had once been found in the local church flickered as a light breeze entered the cavernous room. Save for the small chinks of light from the top of the staircase, the candles atop the roughly carved stone table were the only source of light and he couldn't afford them going out. Not while he was entertaining at least...<p>

"And you're saying that you don't want him, ah, dealt with?" said the first of his three guests. Dressed all in black, with their long blond hair slicked back from their grotesque and deformed faces, the three looked just like family. For centuries they had worked closely together, gaining them quite the reputation and the name of 'The Brothers'. But even they had been no match for their new leader. No, not with his powers... He was the master of the underworld, the epitome of evil and, when he asked you to join him, there was no refusing.

"That," he began, in his slow English drawl, his hand closing around a bronze goblet."Is exactly what I'm saying. I want him back here in one piece... I'd like to have a word with our little...vengeance demon."

"With all due respect Master Barrett," began the brother with the least scars and battle-wounds adorning his neck and arms. "Vengeance demons are all female. So I don't think he's one of them."

"And with all due respect, Ryder," Barrett said, his hand twisting into a contorted fist as he did his best to maintain control. He needed this...this boy on his team. He couldn't waste time and risk the chance of Copeland and Hawkins deserting him, should he kill their brother. "You obviously have not done your research. When he was living; he was a model. He made a living from his appearance and then that was taken away from him. And now, as a member of the undead, he takes others' appearance and good looks away from them. Starting with his old agency... If that isnt seeking vengeance, I don't know what is." Barrett's voice was near a whisper, each syllable filled with condescending hatred. He was a dangerous one, even by the standards of a vampire, and the Three Brothers would have done well to recognise this before hand. "Now," continued Barrett, as though he had not just stared through each of his guests with a look of pure evil. "Drink up – it's almost as good as fresh." The Three Brothers looked at each other, the deep grooves above and around their eyes becoming more prominent as they frowned.

"Forgive me, sir," said the Brother to the right of Ryder. He looked to be around Ryder's age, though age was irrelevant when it came to vampires. Preserved and everlasting, they remained the same age they had been when they died for the rest of their lives. Or rather, for the rest of their deaths. When Barrett lowered his eyes to turn his attention to him, Copeland began to speak. "But why would you enlist us for this particular job? We are, ah, known to specialize in the _removal_ of his type. We do not fetch and carry..."

"You've dealt with his type before?" asked the Master, ignoring the question he had been posed. Standing at almost seven foot tall, with shoulders as wide as an Ox, Wade Barrett was a terrifying figure and, as he took a deep breath, puffing out his chest, the so-far-silent Brother shrunk in his chair.

"N-Not exactly," he said, swallowing hard. "He is very different to anything anyone has ever seen...He...He is not a vampire. Nor a zombie. He's not a born demon and he's not a ghoul. No one knows what he is or how to deal with him..."

"But that's not to say that we can't!" added Copeland, hastily, keen to retrieve his friend from the hole he was so clearly digging. "He is no match for the Three Brothers. No match at all."

A sinister smile played across Barrett's face, his lip curling and exposing one elongated fang as he raised his goblet to his lips, taking a long drink. The imposing demon placed his goblet back on the stone table before dabbing at the corners of his lips – after all, he was a vampire, not a commoner. "I want Rhodes brought back to me in one piece. He would be a valuable member of our family – would you not say?" A chorus of 'yes, Master' came as a reply, to which Barrett grinned, exposing blood-stained lips. "Now – be gone. I have work to do!"

* * *

><p>The lights from Great Moose Creek illuminated the graveyard, casting shadows across his face as it beat down on the gravestones. His face was handsome – or at least, it had been – with bright blue eyes and full lips. He was of a good build, with strong arms and high cheekbones. He was, according to his mother, God's gift to women. Until the light hit the left side of his face. He had been a vain boy – always fussing about his looks and always finding insecurities. He had, in his twenty-six years of living, received botox on no less than four occasions and so it had seemed a natural progression to move onto cosmetic surgery. His nose, which had always bothered him, was first to be seen to.<p>

Three weeks after his twenty-sixth birthday, he had checked himself into the Gladstone Surgery for Cosmetic Procedures and, just two days later he had left the clinic, sporting a clear, protective face-mask. It had been, according to him, a great shame that he would have to hide his face under such a horrid mask but, nevertheless, he wore it dutifully for four weeks. On the last day of wearing his mask, however, his home had been set alight due to a pair of hair straighteners catching fire. The house had gone up in flames, the left side of Cody's body being caught in the heat, while thick, black smoked invaded his lungs, twisting around his windpipes like coiling snakes, choking him to death. He had always said he'd leave a good looking corpse but, a week later at his funeral, the model's parents refused to have an open casket. They knew their son would have been so ashamed if anyone saw him – covered in burns, one half of his protective face mask welded to his face.

Slowly, he moved towards the McMahon crypt, the evening breeze ruffling his hair as he moved noiselessly. He grimaced when the heavy doors of the crypt groaned as they opened but did not let this deter him. Rather, he entered instantly, pulling the door closed behind him before making his way across the candle-lit crypt to where the stone staircase leading downwards began. He moved slowly, carefully and full of caution as he moved down onto the first few steps, his target slowly coming into sight, the further into the cavern he moved. The man was occupied, a thick, leather bound book clutched tightly in his hands. "Barrett," he said, smug arrogance lacing every syllable. "A little vampire-bat told me you were looking for me..."


	3. Chapter 3

3 chapters in five days - that has to be a record for me! Thank you to everyone who reads. I know there's not many of you but those who are here are much loved!  
>Here's where the ~real action starts I guess. So, as always, read, review and enjoy.<br>Oh and, here's a question for you: **What creatures would you like to see in the fanfic and which wrestler would they be?**

Love, Kimberly xoxo

* * *

><p>His hands were buckled behind his back, heavy handcuffs preventing him from escape. The heat seemed to rise from within him,his very skin burning as he struggled against the constraints. In front of him stood an older man with greying hair. He was stooped slightly which made Bryan think that he had done a lot of manual work. Behind him stood a young blonde, the spitting image of the girl from the Hartland Times who had gone missing when her family died. She seemed calm, as though she had long since stopped fighting against her restraints while the older man had ugly welts on his wrist, where the handcuffs had cut into the skin. "Excuse me?" he said, hoping to gain one of their attentions. The blonde shot him a deadly look which told him she would have raised a finger to her lips to silence him, were her hands free. "Excuse me?" he whispered, this time, which seemed to appease the pretty blonde. "What are we doing here?"<p>

The blonde, who's name escaped him at that moment in time, smiled serenely, her lips pulling into such a gentle smile that he momentarily forgot the ice-cold look she had given him just seconds before. "We're waiting for the Master of course," she said, her voice sickly sweet and dripping with admiration as she said 'Master'. "It's our turn to serve him today..."

"Try not to sound so bloody happy about it!" snapped the older man, causing Bryan to start. He spoke with a plummy, English accent; the type Bryan had heard in old British comedies and his face was contorted into a scowl, which he directed at the blonde. "This is hardly something we should be looking forward to, Barbara!"

_Barbara..._ thought Bryan, the innocent looking girl's story coming back to his mind. "Are we dead?" he asked, an inane urge to scratch his beard bothering him greatly.

"What on Earth are you talking about, Bryan?" the Englishman asked, looking thoroughly bored of the conversation, his arms constantly twitching as he – once again – attempted to remove his cuffs which were unbudging.

_How does he know my name?_ "Are-Are we dead?"

The man looked at him for a moment and, suddenly, he was filled with fear, every line in his well-worn face seemingly much deeper than they had been until now. "Oh, Bryan," he said with a sigh. "You have no idea how much I wish we were...no one dies, now. We are either us or them. The living or the undead."

"Shut up!" Barbara barked, though her eyes stared towards the distance where a great, looming shadow moved towards them. "He's coming." And suddenly, he was before them, moving at lightning-quick speed. His face was pale, his blood stained lips contrasting strikingly under a well-battered nose. His eyes, a soft greyish-green, offered the only relief from such a contrasting face. Bryan grimaced. He could smell the metallic smell of blood, the strong stench of raw meat and, somewhere, he could just about make out the light scent of cinnamon. The smell was strong, overpowering and, as 'The Master' stepped closer to him, he felt his stomach wretch. Feeling weak, his knees buckled and he was filled with a strong sense of failure, like he could never be happy. And then the vice grip on his arm took hold of him.

The fingers were strong, as though made of titanium as they gripped harder and harder on his forearm, pulling him closer. The looming sense of fear and terror grew, his head hurting as though the death-grip were on his temples as well as his arm. He felt his neck pushed to the side, the warm breath covering his skin before indescribable pain took over him. It was white hot but ice cold at the same time and it seemed to come from all over his body. And, finally, the two elongated teeth pierced his skin as blackness took over.

* * *

><p>He awoke from his slumber in a blind panic, both hands clawing at his neck as he screamed out in agony, a thin film of sweat covering his body and making the baggy white vest he wore to bed cling to him like a second skin. His neck, he found, was perfectly fine; void of any bites he was sure had been there. Moving into a seated position, Bryan propped himself up with pillows, his heart thumping against his chest as he tried to slow his breathing. He had never been plagued by nightmares – even as a child he had been relatively lucky when it came to his subconscious – and this had struck him hard. He ran a hand over his short hair, feeling his forehead slick with sweat before throwing back his duvet covers and getting out of his bed.<p>

He felt dry and parched, his throat – as well as his neck – feeling scarily sensitive and he had to shake his head a few times to remind himself that it had just been a dream. Normally, as he padded his way across the bare, wood flooring, he would have been wary of splinters and wood chips but tonight his mind was else-where. He knew who the girl was – the sick girl who had gone missing when her family died – but the man... What had his name been? William? He was entirely unfamiliar.

The psychologist made his way to the kitchen where he grabbed a bottle of cold water before moving to his living room where his laptop had been left, set up, on his desk. Settling himself down on the desk chair, he turned on the power, sipping slowly on his water while he waited for the screen to come to life. _It was just the note..._ he thought to himself as he opened his internet explorer, his homepage of Google springing across the screen. _It's made you paranoid..._ A tiny voice at the back of his mind nagged at him, however, telling him that he _knew_ there was more to the note than some old man's ramblings. After all, this Doctor Regal hadn't been made a doctor for nothing... And that was exactly what he found himself searching for. "Doctor Regal, Hartford, Maine" he said aloud as he typed. In the blink of an eye, the search was complete, the top search result being: Doctor William Regal of Hartford, Maine. A wikipedia entry.

_William..._ he thought, hesitantly as he clicked. Surely that was just a coincidence? But, almost the instant the Wikipedia entry loaded, he knew it could not be a coincidence – the small photo of the man on the right hand side of the entry was the very man from his dream. The psychologist sighed, rubbing his temples. Even the best psychologist in the world couldn't rationalise this one – he was almost sure no one could. Ignoring the majority of the article, Bryan scrolled to the latest update on the doctor's life; a few lines about him working in Great Moose Creek Library. Before he shut down the computer, he made a mental note to visit this Doctor Regal.

* * *

><p>His footsteps were the only sound as he stepped further into the cavern, Wade's eyes never leaving him as he reached the final step. "So..." mused the much younger man, running his hand across the wall moving into the bulk of the room. His lips curled into a sinister smile, the burned and charred skin on the left side of his face protesting at the strain. "Were they right?"<p>

"The Brothers work faster than I expected..." Wade replied, still watching him from his seat. Formalities, he believed, were for his equals and Cody Rhodes was no equal of his. Powerful, yes – very powerful and, if rumours were to be believed, very smart – but not quite on par with a vampire who had spent centuries honing his skills and striking fear into the fearless.

"The Brothers? Sure, we'll go with them," as he stepped closer to the master, candlelight illuminated his face, causing Wade to curl his lip in disgust. In his time he had seen some horrific creatures – zombies who had lost limbs and organs, vampires with deep set grooves carved so far into their face that it was difficult to see their faces and a demon who's face had been turned to wax and slowly dripped off – but this was another sight altogether. This was human. "So, you wanted to see me?" Finally, Cody was in front of him, one half handsome, the other horrific. The young man leaned against the table, his gnarled, left hand reaching out to rub the dust from the candle holder as he blew the nearest candle out. "Never did like naked flame..."

"Take a seat," said Wade, now basked in shadow as he waved his hand vaguely towards the three throne-like chairs on the opposite side of the table. Cody looked wary but pulled the first chair back, the noise of the chair against the ground echoing around the cavernous room. "It's nice to finally meet you. I've, hmm, I've heard so much about you."

"Likewise," Cody replied, without missing a beat. His eyes scanned the huge room which, upon first glance, seemed empty save for the two at the table however, once he had gauged out the space around him he could tell that there was a small cluster of vampires – young, by the way they were gnawing at the body they shared – in a far right corner while, high above them some form of demon watched with narrow eyes. He imagined that these would not be the only creatures in the lair and he made it his goal to remain on amicable terms with Barrett until he was at least in the main body of the crypt. He was powerful, yes, but not powerful enough to take on at least five creatures of the night. Especially when one was as fabled as Wade Barrett was... "I hear you have a proposition for me..."

"We could call it that," Wade replied, cracking his knuckles. "I would offer you something to drink but I don't quite think I'd have anything to your tastes..." The Englishman scoffed as he waited for the maniac before him to refute that idea but, when met with silence, he merely continued. "What exactly is it that you do, Cody?"

"What exactly is it that _you_ do?" asked the former model, instantly cursing himself for not following his goal. "Besides the whole...vampire thing."

"I control, Cody. I control. Almost every member of the undead that you come across in Maine answers to me. They are a part of my family and they work with me to create a better life for us all."

Cody paused, chewing the inside of his mouth in an effort to retort. "And what, pray tell, does this better life include."

Where, as a great orator, Wade would normally launch into a speech detailing the trials and tribulations of the vampires and the underworld, of the oppression and the hurt they had gone through, the starvation and the killing... he simply replied, "Power." Cody was not like anyone he had ever come across. He was an anomaly. A human who had simply refused to die. He craved control, revenge, blood. He did not, however, understand the pain his new 'family' would have suffered in years gone by. "I can offer you a host of victims. I can have the most beautiful women on the planet handed to you on a silver platter. But, of course, this isn't about women – is it?" Again, he waited for a response but received silence, Cody's eyes trained on him, the left one staring, unblinking, from behind the mask. "This is about revenge. We understand that, Cody. All of us. Every last member of my family..."

"I'm hardly a member of your family, though. I don't quite fit the character of blood-thirsty vampire, do I?"

"Is that all you think we are?" Wade opened his mouth as he sighed, Cody's eyes flickering to the fangs which glimmered in the pale candlelight. "Cody we are so much more. This graveyard alone holds more demons than you could name. We have werewolves, vampires, ghouls, ghosts, demons, we have spirits, gargoyles – I'm sure you passed a few on your way in – we have the things of nightmares, Cody. Things that would strike fear into the heart of the living. And what is more terrifying," he paused, grinning across the table. "Than one of their own working for the undead?"

"Here's the minor flaw in that plan – I'm not living."

Wade took a deep breath, once again doing his best to resist his murderous urges. "Cody that is but only a technicality..." he said, opening his hands. His hands were covered in a thin layer of grime, his nails yellowing and dirty, much to Cody's disgust. "Think about it – I am offering you power. I am offering you revenge. You wouldn't be just another member of the family. No... You're much too valuable for that." Cody's right eyebrow quirked. "You would sit at my right hand side. The very essence of our family. You would be revered above all others. You would be all powerful and you would, of course, have your choice of victims..."

Cody frowned as he mulled over the idea. He had to think, to be honest with himself. For the past four years – ten, if you were to count from the day of his 'creation' – he had worked alone. He had travelled America doing as he pleased. He had had his fair share of victims but he'd also had his fair share of battles. Battles from humans, battles from the undead... Perhaps he would be best to join Barrett... "So I get power. I get victims. I get glory. What do you get?"

"I get to expand my family..." he paused. "Cody, one day – one day soon – we will rule. We will take over the living and enslave them. We will be the masters. We will be in power. It has been prophesied... Our family – our army - needs to be as strong as possible and, over the years, there have been slayers, witches, stronger humans. They have built up resistance to vampires, found ways to get rid of werewolves... They have never met something like you. I have made it my goal to collect, as it were, a variety of creatures. One-offs. Unique beings." He paused at the sound of footsteps above head before continuing. "We have men with the strength of twenty, women who can control the elements, a man who's level in mind control is unrivalled. And we could have you. This will take place whether you join us or not, Cody. But when we walk the Earth...it would be best to be on our side."

Cody opened his mouth to respond, but was silenced as Wade raised a dirty hand. "Enter!" he called, his voice booming through the cavern. From the left hand side, Cody heard the scraping of a door against concrete, craning his neck to allow his 'good' eye to see as light flooded the room. For a moment he was blinded – not by the light but by the beauty which entered. Long, flowing blonde curls cascaded down the woman's back, tumbling over her shoulders and hiding the straps of her white, silken nightdress. Her face, deathly pale, contrasted with her plump, red lips and Cody found himself thinking back to Wade's earlier comment that 'This isn't about women – is it?' However, his trance was broken as a second figure entered the room, the burned man jumping to his feet at the sight.

A hissing noise filled the room and Cody balled his fists. He could feel it already, that cold feeling which swept over him as someone invaded his thoughts. "Ah, Randal. You've returned. And this must be Barbara..."


	4. Chapter 4

Dear readers,

It's taken a bit longer to write this chapter than the other three and for that I apologise. I've been throwing ideas around and I have a notebook filled with pointers, ideas and all the rest of it so, hopefully, something will come from it. I'm working on chapter five as we speak so, hopefully, it should be updated soon.

Read, review and enjoy.

Kim.

* * *

><p>"Ah, we have guests," the tall, bald man hissed, his tongue darting out to wet full lips. He allowed himself a moment as he slipped a muscular arm around Barbara's waist, taking his first look at the 'guest' who was overcome by a cold chill. "I should have known it was you, Rhodes. The animosity I felt the minute I stepped in the room...Well, it's unmatched with you, isn't it? I have to admit, though, I thought you'd be dead by now..."<p>

"You two know each other?" asked Wade, his fingers clasping around his bronze goblet as he attempted to hold his concentration on the two men before him; it was getting late, now, and he still hadn't eaten, making him irritable.

"You could say that. Rhodes, here, was an...employee of mine. He would tell you himself but he's too busy employing that age old trick of thinking of a brick wall. Perhaps I should remind him how easy it is for me to, ah, Break. Them. Down." With each of his last three words, a fist punched through the imaginary wall Cody had been concentrating so hard on. As the former model snapped back to reality, Randy sighed. "You've gotten weak, Cody...Why don't you take a seat?"

It was with morbid fascination that Wade watched as Cody battled inwardly, his body twitching violently as his body attempted to follow Randy's mental instruction, his mind protesting as best it could. He put up quite the fight – that much was obvious – but, as with every other man Wade had witnessed Randy work on, Cody soon fell short. The scarred man found himself slumped in the seat he had previously vacated, feeling both mentally and physically exhausted as he cursed Randy in his thoughts. "Watch your tongue!" the snake-like man barked in response to Cody's silence. While he had always found him to be his greatest asset, Wade had often found himself jealous of his talent. "This, sir, is the infamous Miss Blank," hissed Randy softly, nudging Barbara closer to the table, her white dress glowing in the soft candlelight and breaking Wade from his thoughts. "Barbara, this is Wade..."

With Randy's attention elsewhere, Cody felt the cold feeling seep from his mind. Barbara stepped forward, dragging her bottom lip through her teeth as she clutched at the sides of her dress. Her blonde hair fell to create a curtain as she bowed her head towards the 'Master'. "Miss Blank," said Wade, moving from behind his table to stand in front of the blonde. He placed a finger and a thumb to cup her chin, slowly adjusting her position to gain eye contact. At his ministration, Cody groaned audibly, reminding everyone that he was still in the room. It was one thing to have such dirty hands but to force them on someone else... Wade cast him a steely glare before turning back to Barbara. "It is so nice to finally meet you...We've heard a lot about your...Well, your transformation."

Shunning both the living and the undead world, Cody had _not _heard a lot of the blonde, knowing nothing of her other than the fact that she was devastatingly beautiful. Under Wade's gaze, Cody would have sworn she would blush if blood still flowed in her veins. _What was she?_ He wondered. _Was she like Wade? _A blood-thirsty vampire? Or perhaps she was like Randy – no, Wade had mentioned her transformation... Randy had been born as he was. She could be like him, he supposed, tilting his head to gain a better look, hoping to see her smile, to see a glimpse of fangs or, better still, a lack of fang. "I hear you met Stephanie..." Wade spoke, his voice soft and breathy as he watched the blonde intently. She smiled coyly, nodding her head almost minutely as she looked up at the huge vampire through dark eyelashes. _Great,_ thought Cody. _Stephanie_. _She's definitely one of them..._ And, while this irked him, it did not prevent him from watching her with hunger in his eyes. "And she told you what to do...am I correct?" Again, Barbara nodded. "But you didn't stay with her?" This time, Barbara shook her head, causing Wade's brow to furrow. "Why ever not?"

"She didn't want me..." said Barbara, her voice soft and sweet, causing Cody to take in a slight gasp. Oh, she was definitely a product of Stephanie's alright... "She said I'd only hold her back...That she had a job to do..."

"I bet she did," growled Randy, causing Cody to smirk.

"And that's when Randal, here, found you – yes?" Barbara shook her head, grinning for the first time. Her fangs were there, yes, but they were not as prominent as Barrett's or even Stephanie's. _No, she hides them well..._ thought Cody.

"I had some fun..." Wade's face fell at her words. "In one of the Carolina's... That's when I knew what I was... Two brothers took me in..." Her voice was dreamy and Cody tried not to focus on her perfume which was heady in the air. "They were sweet. I was weak..."

"But you fed from them?" Barbara nodded, her grin spreading, her eyes almost feral. Cody found himself rolling his own eyes, an action he knew Randy would be copying. "And what did you do with their bodies?"

"I buried them." Her tone was matter of fact and Wade moved his hand from her chin to her arm where it lingered for a moment.

"Take a seat, Randal," he said, waving his now free hand across the chairs as he stalked back to his place behind the table. "Layla," he bellowed, his voice shaking the cavernous room and echoing for moments later. A petite, dark skinned brunette bounced out of the darkness. Light on her feet and with a smile on her face, the woman Barbara assumed to be Layla grew nearer. Cody grinned, straightening up in his seat. He had come across the famed Seer only twice in his life and, while neither experience had been particularly joyful, she was pleasant on the eye. She had, exactly one year before his death, stood before him and ran a hand across the left side of his face before whispering, "Such a shame". Fifteen years later he had met her in a graveyard not unlike the one he was in and proclaimed "The lamia is coming..." Cody, having once been a red-blooded male had misheard her and assumed that he would be having at least one night of passion in the near future. Sadly, she had meant Randy. And now...here she was, leaving him torn between ripping her to shreds with clinical tools and having wild, rampant sex with her.

"Yes, Master Barrett?" she grinned, rocking on the balls of her feet.

"I want you to take Barbara to the north wing," Wade said, his hands moving back to the goblet he had once gripped. His knuckles were bone white and, under direct candlelight once again, Cody noticed the dark circles forming under his eyes. "There's a room next to yours...Get it spruced up for her." Layla turned on her heel, extending her hand to the blonde who looked nervously at Randy. The master of mind control nodded his head once, which seemed to be enough reassurance for Barbara, who took Layla's hand and allowed herself to be led away to the North wing of the underground den which, it appeared, was much bigger than Cody had once thought.

"We've no time to chit chat, boys," said Wade, wringing his hands together. "It'll be day break in a few hours and I haven't eaten so we'll make this quick." He leaned forward as Randy took a seat. "We need to talk business..."

* * *

><p>He wasn't like the others who had asked for William – he didn't seem to be a journalist and he showed no inclination of being some madcap looking for a saviour to protect them for the end of the world. No, he looked almost business-like in his crew-neck sweater and his brown slacks, rubbing at his short, tufty beard with one hand, the other clutching tightly to his briefcase. Veronica stared over her tortoise-shell glasses at the man before closing the book she had been examining. "And what did you say your name was?" she asked, her soft voice not quite befitting of her hard face. Her glasses sat perched on a long nose in the center of a thin face. Her hair was pushed back by a navy blue hairband which matched her navy sweater and the rubber-soled shoes she wore on her feet. From what Bryan could see, she was the perfect librarian.<p>

"Bryan Danielson," he winced, his voice ever so slightly too loud for a library and, lowering it by an octave or two, he began again. "Bryan Danielson. I'm a psychiatrist who, uh, I recently moved into Mr. Regal – Doctor Regal, that is – I recently moved into his old apartment and I have a few belongings of his..."

"Would you like me to pass them on?"

"I'd rather speak to him myself, thank you," replied Bryan, rubbing his thumb over the well-worn leather of the briefcase handle. It was true – cleaning out the house in the first few weeks he had found letters, a book, two photographs and an old opera vinyl which Bryan struggled to pronounce the title of and he found that these would be a perfect excuse to speak to the former occupant of his house.

"Very well," the tight lipped librarian said as she got to her feet. "Wait here – he's in the back room." As Veronica – or Vanessa, Bryan couldn't remember which – made her way through to the 'back room', Bryan unlatched his briefcase, removing the items one by one and placing them on the counter. The last item – the letter he had read over and over until the words were ingrained on his mind – he kept clutched in one hand.

"Ah, Mr. Danielson, was it? I'm William. Veronica says you have a few things for me?" His sand-coloured hair he had seen in the wikipedia entry was greying slightly and his bangs fell floppily into his eyes but, other than that, he looked exactly as Bryan had remember, as Bryan had saw in his dream. The psychologist stared straight ahead, terrified by his own mind. "Mr. Danielson? Do make it quick – I have a backlog a mile long back there and I'd really like to get back to it..."

Bryan blinked slowly, not saying a word as his mouth opened and closed. He had prepared for this – had rehearsed his 'lines' as it were in front of the mirror, prepared what he would say and how he would go about breaching the subject and yet suddenly his mouth was dry, his palms damp and his throat painful. "Here you are..." he finally choked out, pushing the items he had so neatly lined up on the counter forward. "Its just a few pictures...a record and...some letters. I thought you might need them..." William moved forward, pushing his glasses further up his nose as he opened the book.

"I wondered where this had gotten to," he said, more to himself than to Bryan or Veronica. "It's a first edition, you see..." He exhaled slowly before raising his head to face Bryan. "Thank you, for this. Really – it's much appreciated."

"I found something else," Bryan stammered, his hands shaking as he motioned towards the piece of paper in his hand. "Something that you'd probably...not want discussed in public."

William's eyes narrowed but he never missed a beat, nodding his head once before turning to Veronica. "Veronica, if you don't mind I'll be taking Mr. Danielson through to the archives. We shouldn't take long..." The librarian's lip twitched and she battled with herself inwardly, unhappy that a complete stranger would be allowed near the old, delicate books held in the archive but rather than argue, she moved aside to allow Bryan access to the archive.

'The archives' was a huge room with four large, oak tables taking up most of the space. It was a dim room, with few windows to avoid sunlight from ruining the rare books. At the far end of the room was a vacated seat, a pair of latex gloves left beside a large, leather bound book atop the table. It was to here which William walked towards, taking the vacated seat and indicating the seat to his left for Bryan to take. The psychologist sat down, his leather bound briefcase taking up residence on the table beside the book. "Do be careful," William said, casting a worried glance towards his book. "Perhaps I should just..." the ageing librarian put on the latex gloves before closing over the heavy-looking book and placing it in the box it had come from. "They're very delicate you see." Removing the gloves, he turned to face Bryan, who shifted under his gaze. "You said you had something belonging to me?" Bryan handed over the piece of paper, the note he had memorised being taken by the older man. "Ah," he exhaled softly, his eyes skirting over the note. "I thought it might be something like this, Mr Danielson..."

"I believe you," Bryan blurted before he could allow William to deny his theories, his beliefs, his suggestions.

"Excuse me?"

"I believe you. About...about those things. The underworld rising up to enslave the living..." his quotation, straight from the note, made William's eyes widen slightly. "I don't believe in these things – at least, I didnt...But recently..." Bryan began to babble, telling him of Barbara Blank, of the removal van driver and of his dream, William staring intently, hanging on his every word. The ridges on his forehead and around his eyes deepened, the corners of his lips pulling down into a frown.

As Bryan came to an end, William removed his glasses, pinching at the bridge of his nose, silence filling the spacious room. "I feared this would happen..." he admitted, his voice breathy. "And the girl still hasn't been found?" Bryan shook his head. "Oh... Oh dear...This is worse than I feared...He's recruiting."


	5. Chapter 5

Well, girls and boys, here is chapter 5.

Not much of a prelude, here.

Just read and enjoy. And PLEASE review :)

Kimberly

* * *

><p>"I wasn't aware Stephanie was still around..." Cody mused, his voice taking on an annoyingly sing-song tone which seemed to grate on Randy even more than it had done previously. "And now she's recruiting more... God, I pity you...You always were easily distracted..."<p>

Randy exhaled, rubbing at his temples in an attempt to keep his promise to Wade. He wanted nothing more than to control Cody and have him commit suicide – it was much less messy than doing it himself – but he knew he couldn't, that he'd be turfed out on his ear and he couldn't let that happen so close to the day of reckoning. "I can read your thoughts, Rhodes. You knew fine well Stephanie was 'still around' so let's cut the crap," he hissed, keen to avoid the topic of the female vampire. It didn't take a mind reader to see through Cody's seemingly innocent ploy and Randy was doing all he could not to rise to the bait. He knew the younger man would love nothing more than to see him ripped apart by Wade and his lackies, the threat on hand should either men attack the other. The only problem was that Randy had been strictly forbidden to use mind control on Cody. Evidently, Wade hadn't quite understood Cody's ability to rile Randy with just the simplest of words, leaving him irritable, edgy and ready to snap.

"I just figured she'd have found The Hunter by know, you know? Settled down, maybe had a few Ice Maiden babies..." Cody laughed, examining the nails of his right hand, the image of Barrett's unkempt, ragged nails, thick with dirt and blood and grime still vivid in his mind. "I wonder what would happen if she found him – you think he'd still try and off her?"

Randy closed his eyes, willing Cody to shut up before he had to hurt him. "Can you just shut up for ten minutes?" Opening his eyes slowly, Randy glared at his former protege with icy blue eyes. "I don't know what would happen with Stephanie and the Hunter and, you know something? I really don't give a fuck. I hope he does kill her."

"No you don't," replied Cody simply, actually locking eyes with Randy for the first time since the two had become reacquainted. "If you thought for one minute that someone who looked like her could ever want, well," he motioned vaguely to the bald man. "That... You'd be on your knees, pleading for her life. You're weak, Randal. Weak and pathetic. No more than a mortal – and the sad part? I used to respect you. Idolize you even. And now?" He paused, more for dramatic effect than an answer. "I wouldn't piss on you if you were on fire." At the final word, Randy snapped, using all his force to punch a hole into the wall. As the mixture of dirt and rock crumbled around his hand, Cody grinned. "Like I said...so weak. I'll be back later – I'm going to go explore. Maybe I'll catch up with Layla. Or Barbara." With a wiggle of his right brow – Randy assumed he wiggled the left too, but it was hard to tell under the scarring – he added, "Or both."

Cody got to his feet, leaving the mind control master seething as he exited the makeshift room he had been offered. It was beyond his thinking, really, as to why Wade had insisted they 'room' together because from what he could see there was more than enough room for him to have a small house of his own, somewhere near the top. He could do with being away from the bloodsuckers, to be fair... Entering into the main body of the underground cavern, he rolled his eyes. It was so typical of a vampire to live in a place like this, with it's twisting makeshift hallways, church candles lighting the way in a sort of ironic delight and dark crevices which doubled as rooms. If truth be told, he wondered why they needed rooms – it wasn't as though they slept and he wasn't sure they needed privacy for anything else... He had never quite breached that topic with Randy, even when they had been on speaking terms.

His footsteps were masked by the dirt covered ground, giving him plenty of opportunity to wander the weaving corridors without being heard. He wondered just who and what lived in these caverns – were there people he had come across in the past? Perhaps people who wouldn't exactly be happy to see him... He knew Randy wasn't, that much was for sure. He narrowed his eyes as he heard movement up ahead. As far as he was aware, most of the bloodsuckers – as he so affectionately called them – were off for a snack or two and all that were left were the 'others'. Since he and Randy had retreated to their shared room, Randy had spoken as little as possible, avoiding all questions asked by the younger man meaning that Cody had no idea just how many 'others' there were. He knew of himself and Randy. And of Layla, of course. But the rest remained a mystery...

Cody ran his hand along the hard, dry walls, frowning as he did so. This place wasn't for him – he knew that much. It was a vampire's paradise, surrounded by coffins and tombstones and everything he had escaped. There was a pungent, coppery stench in the air reminding him how the vampires remained strong and he felt his stomach drop. Why couldn't they just be like him? He'd been dead for goodness only knew how long and he hadn't had so much as a whiff of a McDonald's fry the entire time, never mind vats of blood. The coffins he had seen being used as beds and tables only furthered his thoughts – while the vampires thrived in the 'dead' surroundings, he wouldn't have minded a bit more of a cushioned lifestyle. A nice comfortable bed or two...

He'd had a home – a small flat just south of Atlanta – before he'd come here. A home with a bed and a chair and an empty fridge. He had a television which had no electrical current, a bathroom he never had to use and a large, gilded mirror in the hallway which he kept covered with a white bed sheet. And now he had a coffin and dirt – and for what? So the vampires could enslave humans and feed when they wanted to? Sure, Wade had made it seem oh so tempting when he was talking of the power, the glory, the fear... But now, it was all too obvious that he was a physical anomaly, no more than a walking corpse – no better than a God forsaken zombie! - who was now entrapped in a world of vampires.

"Great things will happen, you know?" came the soft voice from ahead. Standing underneath a large church candle stood Layla, her dark hair tumbling over exposed shoulders. "I know you doubt it...that you think it's all for the vampires. You tell me this once, sitting in my room." Cody scoffed, his eyes rolling at her words. "Wade will make sure we're taken care of. He sees to it all. You and Randy...you're his most revered...his right hand men and the living world...it burns."

"What is it with you fuckers and fire? Some of us aren't great fans of it..."

The English beauty rolls her eyes in return, copying his previous gesture. "Come on," she says, turning on her heel and walking off into the distance. "Lets go have that chat while we have privacy. I'm sure you have plenty of questions..."

Cody stilled, one hand still pressed against the wall. "You want me to go to your room to have a conversation that has already played out in your head to the point where you know everything I say or ask?" he asked the Seer ahead who turned her head back towards him, nodding it in response. "Now I get why you hang around with the bloodsuckers – you're as fucked up as they are." 'Fucked up' or not, he still followed her.

* * *

><p>"I must say, Bryan, you're taking this much better than I did," William laughed humourlessly, fidgeting with the gold ring adorning his middle finger. "For the first few months I blamed it on the whiskey. It was almost a year later before I truly believed I wasn't mad."<p>

"I'm not sure I do," Bryan said, averting his gaze. "What if I am mad? These things don't make sense. It goes against everything I've ever known, everything I've ever studied... But there is no other way to explain it. My dream..." He trailed off, shaking his head as he rubbed the back of his neck. "I tried to research it before I came here... I spent all morning googling 'New England Vampire Master'. Do you know the kind of results you get from those searches?" The psychologist let out a dry chuckle before raising his eyes to stare at the librarian. "I can't believe I've come here based on a dream...It's so out of character, for me. I need fact, proof, written thesis..."

"As did I," said William, getting to his feet and shuffling off to a far corner of the archives room, running his hand across many white boxes, all of which looked identical to the one on the table. Finally, he stilled, plucking one of the boxes from the shelf and bringing it to the table where he cleared a space. "And then I found it." The librarian pulled on another pair of latex gloves before opening the box and lifting out a large, dusty looking book. The brown leather looked worn in places and the spine looked battered and worn, showing it's age, yet expressing the love and care the book had been given in previous years. "Here," said Bryan, placing the book down on the table before handing Bryan a pair of latex gloves. "Put these on." It was with care and consideration that William opened the book, carefully turning each page until he was midway through the book when he stopped, running a hand across the page. "I started the same way as you... The dreams. The first one I had...Wade – the master you saw - he was just an ordinary vampire back then. He was spouting latin like there was no tomorrow, in a dark, wet cave. I hunted everywhere to find what these words meant...For weeks I did nothing else. I cleared this entire library – it was before I worked here, of course. Before I had access to these books... I found nothing. The dreams became more frequent and, before I knew it it was nightly... Each time, the words became clearer. Four weeks later, I had written down every word from this dream. I had no idea what possessed me to do it – like you said, it was a dream..."

The librarian paused, pushing a strand of greying hair out of his eyes with one latex-covered finger. "Anyway, I went to the university and found a Latin professor – I knew, at least, that it was spoken in Latin and I figured he was the best person to help... He almost laughed me out of the room when he read it. Do you know what it said?" Bryan shook his head. "Come here, read the translation." William pointed to the page in front of the pair. "Be careful, now. The pages are delicate."

Bryan shifted in front of the book, allowing his eyes to scan the page. He mumbled as he read aloud, his latex-covered hands beginning to sweat. "This is..." he began, his words trailing off as he lost himself in the written words. "Is this a prophecy?"

"Not quite," William replied, swallowing. "It's more... Well... Wade Barrett wrote this, you see. This was the ramblings – the diary, if you will – of an insane vampire. One who so deeply desired to show the world just what threat he posed. What you are looking at is the ramblings, sketchings, thoughts and plans of one Wade Barrett." Bryan leaned forwards, slowly turning pages. "You'll see that most of it is in code... He was a smart man and he knew that, even if he was to throw away his book, to burn it, to tear it into a thousand pieces, there would be ways to piece it back together. He had angered more than his fair share of sorceresses by the time this book was taken from him and the last thing he could have was a witch piecing together his grand plan..."

"But you cracked the code, right?" Bryan asked eagerly, staring at a particularly intricate sketching involving what looked to be platelets of the earth.

"I've spent the past thirty years trying to, Bryan and, yes, some parts I have managed. Some parts – like this part – he hasn't even tried to code... He was proud of his plan. But...for the most part, no. I've been in touch with some of the best Codebreakers in the world. But, alas..."

"So what have you worked out?" he asked, his eyes wide with intrigue. While his gut feeling was telling him that this was all a hoax, that he was coming down with a fever and the man in front of him was almost indefinitely mad, his brain raced ahead of him with every page turn. Many of the sketchings were maps, scrawled notes beside them, pinpointing hotspots. Bryan noted that most of these places probably didn't exist any more but that didn't make them feel any less haunting.

"I've worked out that we are in impending doom. Each day we waste, we grow closer to 'The Day Of Reckoning'. Every day Wade Barrett goes stronger and, according to you, he is recruiting. I can only imagine the horrors he has incorporated to his...motley crew of monsters," the older man let out a breathy laugh, though Bryan didn't get the joke. "I fear that if we don't do something... Moose Creek – and the rest of the country – will become a firey hell, where the undead walk the Earth, seeking retribution, just as Wade detailed here."

Bryan sighed as he returned to the original page, his eyes being drawn to the very last line.

"Resistance is futile:There will be no survivors."


	6. Chapter 6

Well, welcome! This is the first chapter in... a while. And I gotta say Mox spurred it on. I had 2 sentences written for all these weeks and suddenly tonight she prompts me and bam! This whole chapter gets written.

Please read and review as I love to hear feedback :)

But mostly, just enjoy!

Kimberly

* * *

><p>The intercom system crackled as the wrought iron gates swung open, allowing the old Vauxhall Astra entrance to the house. It was a fine house, in Bryan's eyes. Three storeys tall and made of pale stone, the building looked resplendent amongst the fine greenery and rose bushes which lined the driveway. It was nothing like anything he had seen in Great Moose Creek and certainly nothing like the houses he had lived amongst in Washington. This was a true sign of class. "And he made all this money from Code Breaking?" he said, awe dripping from every syllable as the old, rackety car wound along the driveway towards the house.<p>

"Well, not exactly," said William, the car heaving a great groan as he spoke. "Mister Jericho is... a dealer of sorts."

"He sells drugs?"

"Oh, Heavens no... He deals in... well, no one knows exactly. He works on a need to know basis – if you're looking for something; he'll find it, if you have a question; he has an answer and without fee, too... All he asks is that you give him a 'donation'. In fact, if rumors are to be believed, this very house was a 'donation' from a satisfied customer..." Bryan scratched his beard, staring up at the house which loomed above the car, which shuddered to a halt by it's side. What kind of services had he offered to receive a house as a 'donation'? For a moment, Bryan wondered what William was donating... "His speciality is Code Breaking, though... He was a translator, once – back in Canada – and some say he studied ancient Greece and Latin as a hobby when he was a boy... No one is sure of much surrounding him... Like I said – need to know basis." William killed the engine and unclasped the seat belt. "We best get going... he doesn't like to be kept waiting."

Bryan followed suit, unclasping his belt and exiting the car. "William...why did you invite me here?" He asked, adjusting the lapel of his jacket. At little after ten o'clock that morning, William had appeared at his door, eyes wide and staring as he informed him of the Code Breaker's request to see him.

"Bryan," said William softly, locking his car. "In all these years I have never once had a sane man who believed me... Forgive me for seeming foolish but I was under the impression that you wanted to help, is that not the case?" Bryan frowned and shook his head, his lips parting slightly as he tried to speak. "As I thought. Now, come along – Jericho is waiting."

The inside of the house showed no less grandeur than the outside, with marble floors and heavy wooden doors which, Bryan supposed, was to hide what went on in the rooms they offered entry to. A heavily tattooed man with a sullen face and slicked back hair led them to the sitting room where, he claimed, Mister Jericho would be waiting. He pulled open the tall door using a heavy brass knocker before stepping into the room. If truth be told, Bryan had been expecting old fashioned furniture, a large oak table and a huge hearth fire but what he was met with could not have been more different. The north wall was almost entirely covered by a wide screen television, a small table the only obstacle between the wall and a black leather sofa. Speakers sat in the very corner of each wall and an electric guitar and it's amp sat to one side of the television screen. It was entirely out of place in the hauntingly old fashioned house. "Your guests have arrived, _Master_ Jericho," said the tattooed man, almost choking on the word Master.

"Take them to the meeting room Philip and then...well, go about your business. I'm not sure what it is you do these days..." Bryan had been so taken by the room that he had been yet to notice the figure lazing on the sofa. Dressed all in black and wearing dark sunglasses, Chris Jericho oozed some sort of celebrity glamour. But his first glimpse of the famed Code Breaker was cut short as Philip – the tattooed lackey - pulled the door closed once more.

With a mutter of 'this way', he wandered ahead, beckoning the two visitors to follow with a sharp twitch of his head. They followed in silence through the house, up one stair case and along a long corridor, the walls of which were lined with expensive, abstract paintings. Finally they stopped, Philip removing a set of keys from his pocket and unlocking the door in front of him. "In," he grunted before moving out of the way to give them entry. "Jericho will be here soon. Make yourself at home." The 'meeting room' as Jericho had called it was almost exactly how Bryan had imagined it, based on the living room he had just seen. The large window looked onto the driveway and the large, iron gates which prevented unwanted visitors from approaching the house. Bryan imagined Jericho had spent many an hour, staring from behind his sunglasses out onto the grounds, watching and waiting for his next client to arrive. The focal point of the room was a sleek, black desk which seated at least six, though only three chairs had been assembled by it – two on one side, one on the other. Bryan and William took their side-by-side seats silently.

They sat together, the room heavy with silence, for little over ten minutes, when the door slammed open, Chris Jericho sauntering into the room, his eyes still hidden behind the sunglasses which, if you asked Bryan, was incredibly rude. "No refreshments?" Chris asked, to which William shook his head slowly. "That boy's no use..." he muttered, taking his time to close the door, make his way to the desk and take his seat. "I'd get rid of him if he hadn't been a gift..."

"You said you had news, Mister Jericho," said William, keen to hurry the meeting along. Now was hardly the time to discuss when and where Jericho had been gifted Philip and, if he were perfectly honest, he doubted that time would ever come.

"Well, I suppose you could call it that," replied Jericho, rifling in one of the drawers behind the desk. "Grey Goose?" he offered, pulling a bottle from one of them. Both his guests declined. "More for me..." he replied, placing it on the table with more force than necessary. Once his 'refreshments' had been sorted, the Code Breaker retrieved a laptop – small and, like almost everything he seemed to own, black – which he placed on the desk too. "I know where he's situated..."

"You do? Where? Is it here in Maine?" William asked eagerly, his hands clasped so tight that the whites of his knuckles seemed no more than bone.

Jericho took a long, draining swig from his bottle of Grey Goose before loading up the laptop. "Oh, better than that. I can tell you the city, the graveyard...even the plot number," his lips tugged at one corner, pulling them into a smirk. "But before I can give you that...There's something we agreed, is there not?" Bryan watched as William retrieved a set of keys from the pocket of his tweed jacket and handed them to Jericho who stashed them in one of his many drawers. "Now...here we are..." Jericho turned the laptop to face the two men. The screen was illuminated with one picture, an impressive crypt with intricate carvings and a large, shiny knocker. "Built before Great Moose Creek was even thought of... Legend has it that a man from Connecticut built it."

Silence fell as Jericho drained the final quarter of his bottle of vodka before turning to smile serenely at his guests. "Go on..." Bryan said, his voice dry as he spoke for the first time since entering the house.

"He came from Connecticut to hide his daughter... She was, what is it they called her? Oh, yeah... A Cold One. Her skin was pale, her lips ruby red... At least that's what the stories say..." Jericho's words began to trail off, his smile growing each time. "He built the crypt and buried his darling daughter... And then he went home. He'd visit every year... But one year... she wasn't there." He ran his fingers through his short, styled hair. "So there you have it. Jordan Cemetery – plot C31. Should be buried amongst rubble and greenery, behind a one-winged angel according to this...Now go. I have another meeting scheduled with a Goose..."

As the two left – this time without their escort – they spoke in hushed whispers. "What did you give him? The car keys? How are we going to get home, William? Great Moose Creek is hardly in walking distance... hell, the gate isn't even in walking distance right now, my legs are shaking so much..."

"What would Chris Jericho - Code Breaker Extraordinaire – want with a bloody Vauxhall Astra?" William replied as they reached the staircase. "I gave him the keys to the library...He said he needed some materials he would be unable to obtain elsewhere..." Bryan frowned, wondering what could possibly be in the Great Moose Creek library that Chris Jericho would want. "Keys to the library for a deciphering of one page. If we want more... well, our gifts had better get more elaborate..."

"You mean like that Phil guy?" Bryan asked as they left the house, heading towards the car. "Kinda creepy to 'donate' a person, don't you think?"

"You know something?" said William as he unlocked the car and headed inside. "That is the first thing you've truly deemed anything 'creepy' in this whole situation. We've discussed vampires and plots to kill all living creatures, we've discussed trips to graveyards and crypts and yet you deem _this_ the creepy part."

His words seemed to go unnoticed by Bryan who simply replied, "I wonder what he did to get a person..."

* * *

><p>The crypt was lonelier than it had ever been, its walls seemingly closing in on her as she sat, alone, atop the oak coffin. Her father had brought all her favourite things when they had come here – he had dressed her in her Sunday best, put her mother's best jewels around her neck, her wrist and her fingers and had placed, in her coffin, a letter from each member of her family and her small sewing kit which, once, she had practiced her stitches and tapestry work on. She hadn't really understood it all at the time... But she did now. She wasn't dead – she never had been – but what she had become was monstrous, so much so that her own father had decided she could not live amongst her family any longer. And so she had come to Maine.<p>

It hadn't been much of anything when she'd first arrived – there was grass and trees all around her and it had been a struggle to feed at first; a young vampire could only live on deer meat for so long before they start to feel dizzy... But now the town thrived – there was a market and a town hall and little by little, houses crept up all around the city lines... and more and more people were buried around her. She didn't understand their obsession with burying the dead around her but she couldn't deny the fact that she enjoyed their obsession with mourning. Each Sunday, people would come to mourn their dead and each Monday, their bodies would be found, ready to join their lost ones, Stephanie having quenched her thirst and resting in her crypt.

He had been a mourner, at first. He had come to mourn his mother but, unlike the others, he didn't weep. He pushed his sheath of arrows from his shoulder, placed his cross bow on the floor and kissed the cold stone which they used as an epitaph. He had come early in the morning, before the townspeople woke and began their days, and the sun was just making its presence known over the horizon when she first showed herself. His hair had acted as a curtain between the two, hiding her from him and his neck from her. She was the perfect hunter in so many ways, she was silent on her feet, nimble too and she had a trustworthy face – or at least, that's what the farmer she had fed from had said, before she bit him...

She hadn't realised she was so close until she reached out her hand. She had meant to touch his shoulder but instead, she found her hand touching his hair. It was softer than she had imagined and thicker too. But it did not shock her. What shocked her was his reply, "Stephanie," he had said softly, turning to face her properly. He was handsome – more handsome than the man she had been betrothed to back home, for sure – and a thin layer of stubble coated his chin. "I was told I might find you here..."

Her eyes had lit up. "You were looking for me?" She had asked and, for a second, she had been sure that her cheeks would flush red until she remembered that blood no longer coursed through her veins. They coursed through his, of course, and she found herself at the center of an inner battle as her muscles strained, desperate to feed. She knew better than that, though. She knew that this man was special, that her father had sent for her and that everything would be okay. Her heart – she was sure – would soar it were in full working order.

"You could say that..." he reached out a hand to take hers in his but she didn't return the favour. Her hands were cold, like ice and she knew he would be disgusted if he felt them.

She smiled, politely, instead. "A lady never offers her hand to a stranger..."

"From what I've heard," the man replied, picking up his arrows and his bow. "You're not a lady..."

She opened her mouth but no words came out, her fingers stiffening and her eyes burning. "I need to go," she called out, running from the spot. The sun had risen much too early for her liking and, by the time she was back in her crypt, she felt tears for the first time since she had been brought to Maine. Her bones ached, her muscles tight and painful and her eyes stung as she lay in the coffin she had grown to call her bed. He had been so handsome, so gentle... And he had known her name! No one in Maine knew her name...

There had been many meetings after that, sometimes few and far between and sometimes every night for a week. Sometimes they spoke of his work as a Hunter, others he asked of her life back in Connecticut. Never, however, did he tell her his name or who had sent him. "How do you know so much about me?" she had asked one evening, while he fed on chicken, perched on his mother's gravestone.

"That's for another day," he had said, pushing himself from the stone and moving towards her in one swift movement. Before she had any time, any chance to think, his lips were on hers. Her icy cold lips which, no doubt, must have stung against his, burning them with their coldness. And yet he never seemed to mind. "Stephanie..." he said softly, breaking the kiss and bringing his hand to her cheek. "I know what you are..."

She was sure that, had she still been mortal, she would not have noticed the blade but she wasn't, and she did. It was silver, of course, and came to a thin point, no thicker than the eye of a needle. She had pulled free of his grasp and run. For how long she was uncertain but it was almost morning by the time she stopped, hiding in a shelter of rocks and stones. For months she ran, hiding by day, running and feeding by night. However, he always followed... Always. It was coming to her fourth anniversary of being in the crypt when she finally returned there. Her letters were gone, her sewing kit in tatters and the lining of her coffin destroyed.

And for exactly a year that's where she stayed. She fed only when necessary; when her body was too weak to plot and she stayed in her crypt at all other times, alone and waiting, plotting and planning. She loved him – her Hunter – and had so desperately wanted to return home with him. She had wanted to be a real woman again, to blush under his gaze, to feel her heart race when he touched her... But instead she remained a vampire and he remained a Hunter, determined to kill her, to destroy her. Not to love her...

No man could ever love her.

But they could help her...

Or at least one could.

The Hunter was just another man – cruel and selfish, out for his own pleasures – but what could be said of the Fixer. She had met him south of Augusta, dressed all in black, a strange hat covering his head and shielding most of his face but she would recognise his voice anywhere. It was soft, reassuring and he spoke in a slow, steady pace. He had told her he could help her with the Hunter if she would just pay him a small price. That price, he had said, would be determined once he arrived in Great Moose Creek, as the town around her crypt had been named.

And now she waited. For one entire year she had waited for him to come, her plots and plans getting more and more elaborate by the day but now she knew... He was here. She could hear him in the first chamber of the crypt, making his way through the lion-headed door... And then he was in her chamber. His hat was, as ever, firmly atop his head, shielding his face from her gaze. "Good evening, Stephanie," he said, removing his gloves. "I'm sorry it's taken me so long to get here... I had a few other jobs to attend to on the way..." Stephanie nodded as he took her hands, his fingers as cold as hers. "I can help you find your Hunter. In fact, I know where he is at this precise moment. He drinks mead and sups with your father, not two hours from Connecticut. But for the exact location...you must promise me something..."

"Anything," she had replied breathily, her eyes widening. She wasn't sure what she would do when she saw him again... Would she kill him? Or would he kill her? No, she would make him love her... She would make him see sense. And the Fixer would help her. He had promised.

"When you've found your Hunter... I want you to return to me."

"And that's all?"

"Just return..."

"Done," she had said simply. "Now where is he?"

"He stays in the small village of Poughkeepsie. His house is three doors to the right of the butchers... Your father pays for it, I hear... After all, your father pays for him, too," Stephanie's face fell. Her father had sent her Hunter to kill her? Surely the Fixer had it wrong... Her father loved her... That's why she had been sent away. To protect herself – the people of Connecticut had found out her secret... they had wanted to burn her... At least, that's what her father had said... "Now, you can go find your Hunter... Do as you will... and then you'll return."

"Yes... Yes I will," she had stammered.

"And Stephanie," he had said, releasing her hands and pulling on his gloves. "You _will_ return. You're mine now. You have no other option."

Stephanie frowned, "Yours?"

"Mine," he reached for his hat and slowly removed it, keeping his face hidden in shadows. "That's part of the deal, Lady McMahon. When you return to me... you never leave." And with that, the Fixer raised his head and Stephanie screamed. Where his eyes would have been sat two, empty sockets which seemed to stare out at her, sucking her into their depths. She felt cold, much colder than she had ever felt in life or death and she found herself speaking without being conscious of her brain forming the words...

"Yes, Mister Jericho," she replied quietly.


End file.
